


How to Date the Batman

by solomonara



Series: How to Date a Superhero [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluffy bits, Gang Wars, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Paparazzi, SuperBat, established Bruce/Clark, secret identity hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue.





	1. Visit Him at Work

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [How to Date the Batman/如何约会蝙蝠侠](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917084) by [solomonara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara), [venhazel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhazel/pseuds/venhazel)



> Saw this tumblr post: <http://solomonara.tumblr.com/post/166377704369/quarterclever-deprofundisclamoadte> and couldn't resist.
> 
> Also: What continuity is this? Who knows. Do whatever mental acrobatics you need to to make it work. As always, please let me know if there are any tags you'd like added; I'm happy to do so, no questions asked. 
> 
> Super (ha) special thanks to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/pseuds/DragonSorceress22) for continually beta-ing works adjacent to her usual fandoms. At this point she knows more about the batfam than she ever wanted to... mwa ha ha ha.

Clark had cheated.

He was only in Gotham for one night, and he hadn't even brought his suit, but he would be damned if he was going to pass up an opportunity to see Bruce, especially given the prolonged Gotham gang war that had just come to a rather explosive end. So, he walked the streets, senses primed, and figured out the route Batman was taking. Oh, he climbed a fire escape just like any normal human, just in case someone saw him (well, maybe more like a normal human in peak physical condition with above-average strength. Clark really needed to stop basing his imitation of humanity on what he'd seen members of Bruce's extended family do.) but the fact remained that he had used superpowers to figure out where Bruce was going to be, and it felt like cheating. Clark felt a little guilty; he had a vague idea that Bruce would have been very impressed with him if he had figured it out using technology or algorithms or several nights of stakeouts or something.

But that feeling vanished immediately when Batman dropped onto the roof from the taller neighboring building and Clark heard Bruce's heartbeat shift from the relentless thrum of a soldier's march to something a little faster, a little more like improvised jazz when he recognized who was waiting for him. Clark felt his own heart leap to match, accompaniment and counterpoint, as Batman straightened from his landing, his cape falling around him like liquid shadow. To anyone watching, he was the implacable Batman, standing on a roof talking to a civilian in off-the-rack khakis and a button down that was a little snug across the shoulders. Clark could see the tiny wrinkle to the left of his mouth that meant he was worried, though.

"Is everything all right?" Batman asked. Despite what the public could see, the gang war he'd wrapped up last night still had a lot of loose ends. Unanswered questions. Potential consequences. Batman was hoping it wasn't one of those that had brought Clark to this rooftop tonight, though the lack of cape and suit suggested it wasn't business-related.

"I should be asking you that," Clark replied. "The _Planet_ sent me on assignment – the abduction of that Iranian botanist is going to be in every major news outlet tomorrow, especially since it was part of a gang territory war and a drug trafficking bust."

"Please tell me you're not asking me for a statement."

Clark snorted. "My copy's already written and sent in. Papers are probably already printing. What I'm asking is whether you're okay." Clark hesitated. "I heard Red Hood was involved."

A line of anger and another for stress joined the worry-wrinkle around Batman's mouth. "He was."

"Is he—"

"He's fine. Everyone's fine. It's taken care of." It was. And Jason _was_ fine. He'd abducted that botanist for her own protection, even if he'd ended up working with Poison Ivy to do it. This time Ivy's goals aligned with the side of right, but Batman hated that he could never be quite sure how far Red Hood was willing to go to stop crime. And the drug trade was a particular hot-button issue of his. "How long are you in town?" Batman asked, deliberately changing the subject. A distraction would be quite welcome when he was done with tonight's investigation.

"It was just for the day. I'm leaving first thing," Clark said.

There was a question in that statement, one that Bruce wanted badly to answer. _Stay the night at the manor_. _Gotham can wait for one night_. _Distract me_. All potential answers. But… the roots of this recent conflict might not be able to wait. Delay a night and they might slither out of his grasp. There would be other nights with Clark.

Clark read all of this in a glance and smiled, understanding completely. "It's okay. I really did just want to see if you were all right. Now that I see you are, I'll just take this to tide me over." Two strides took Clark into arm's reach of Batman. He grasped the front of Batman's cape and pulled Batman's mouth to his in a kiss determined to eliminate that crease of worry and maybe at least smooth the others.

Batman's lips remained a hard line under Clark's for an instinctive moment as his body tensed in trained reaction; someone grabbing his cape was almost certainly bad news, as was letting anyone this near the unprotected part of his face. But it was only an instant. This was Clark, and Batman was _not_ at his mercy, superstrength or no. Clark would never lose control of that strength to the degree that he wouldn't let Batman go if Batman wanted to be gone. And even if he did, Batman had ways of dealing with him. He relaxed, his mouth softening into what was definitely a small smile. His arms remained at his sides under the cape; Batman did not _cling_ , would not lose himself fully while in uniform, but he did allow himself to enjoy the kiss before stepping deliberately back with the barest of sighs.

Clark grinned at him and reached out to smooth Batman's cape where his fist had rumpled the heavy fabric. "I should go. Do good tonight," Clark said with a dazzling smile before turning and walking back to the fire escape.

"Believe me, I want to," Batman said under his breath, his voice as low as he could make it. He switched his mask to infrared vision just to watch Clark's body temperature rise as he climbed back onto the fire escape. Superhearing was fun to play with. Clark shook his head at him with a wistful smile, mouthed _Later_ , and was gone down the ladder.

Batman blinked, re-focused, and swung off into the night. He had work to do.

 

_Meanwhile, in a tiny apartment with an unobstructed view of that rooftop…_

 

Jenny Greene slammed the door to her studio apartment shut behind her, flicked the lock, dropped her bag, and kicked off her shoes. It was five steps to the freezer to grab a frozen mac and cheese, zero steps to toss it in the microwave, and five steps to the bathroom where she splashed the workday off of her face, shed her adult-person clothes, and relaxed into the bra-less comfort of pajamas. By the time the microwave dinged, she'd powered up her computer where it sat on the narrow desk at the foot of her bed (seven whole steps from the kitchen, if you started at the back of the kitchen) and connected it to the telescope that pointed out the apartment's one window.

She checked the forums while she flirted with tongue-burn. Nothing particularly exciting had happened while she was away, but then, that was the life of a batwatcher. She was pretty sure most of them were just in it for the company at this point – though some of them were definitely there for the Nightwing pictures, of which there was no shortage. It was like the guy knew when there was a camera around and deliberately _tried_ to find the best angles to show off. She scrolled down.

Someone thought they had maybe caught a picture of Robin, but it was just a blur of red so… who knew. Then there was someone who said they definitely had gotten Red Robin but by the time they went to upload the file it was mysteriously missing. Hm. Sure.

There was a new picture of Batwoman, her red hair streaming as she kicked a mugger in the face. Now there was a lucky case of right place, right time. Jenny left her regards. Batwoman was rare.

Not as rare as Batman, of course. No one ever got pictures of Batman – not that could be proved to be him, anyway. It was like getting pictures of Nessie: either too blurry and shadowed to be taken seriously, or else quickly exposed as fake.

Jenny switched from her browser to the window displaying her telescope's camera, then got up to adjust the telescope. She must have bumped it this morning getting out of bed, because it was pointing at a brick wall. She watched the computer screen as she carefully maneuvered it across the span of rooftops visible from her window.

Then she stopped.

Blinked.

Checked the scope with her own eyes.

Hit the shutter button so fast she thought she might have damaged the keyboard.

"What, what, whaaat?" she muttered, sliding back into her desk chair. "Nuh- _uh_." She snapped the shutter a few more times, rapidly adjusting the focus. Two men were standing two rooftops away and one of them was _definitely_ Batman, or else a _really_ dedicated cosplayer. The other one just looked like some guy, albeit one who knew his way around a gym.

And then the guy grabbed Batman by the cape and _kissed him_. "Oh my _god_!" Burst mode, _now_. She held it down until the two of them broke apart, her heart thudding wildly. And then Batman fired off a line into the night and she pounced on the button again because that _proved_ it was really him. Who else did that?

Jenny stood up. Then she sat back down again. Then she stood up, paced the length of her apartment twice (fourteen steps), and sat back down again. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay, okay, okay." She sifted through the dozens of photos she'd just snagged. The first ones were too blurry. The rest were pretty good. She picked out five of the best – of the _kiss_ – and saved the rest for proof. Her mouse hovered over the forum post button.

And paused. Posting this on the forums would bring her a certain level of internet notoriety but… a girl had to eat. She pointed her browser toward Google instead.

_Submit photos,_ she typed. _Gotham Gazette_.

 


	2. Learn to Avoid the Spotlight

> **582 Comments on article _Dark Knight Date Night?_  
>  …  
>  batfan2837: ** HAWT  
>  **SupesXBats5eva:** omg so fake. obvious photoshop. ur all morons.  
>  **d0rkKn1ght:** just because it messes with your rpf pairing no need to be rude  
>  **boi1nder:** hey as long as they're two consenting adults, who cares. Batman deserves love!  
>  **The_Real_Batman:** uh, staged. that's probably just some guy in a batman costume.  
>  **batwife221b:** so jelly! would definitely hang out on a rooftop all night for a kiss  <3  
>  **jimNjaun4eva:** omg I bet that's Nightwing out of uniform  
>           **C47M4N:** Nightwing would never wear such ugly pants  
>           **jimNjuan4eva:** THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SUCH A GOOD DISGUISE DUH  
>  **batnewschum:** Hey wait a sec, I've seen that guy somewhere…  
>  ...

Clark practically dove through the doors of the _Daily Planet_ that morning, but that didn't do much to deter the horde of reporters that had descended upon him as soon as he was in sight of the building.

"Mr. Kent, how long have you been dating Batman?"

"Mr. Kent, how did you and Batman meet?"

"Mr. Kent, do you know who Batman really is?"

"Back, you vultures!" Lois emerged from the newsroom and slid between Clark and the knot of people trying to push through the doors. She was brandishing a rolled up newspaper. "Hounding one of your own, you should be ashamed!" She swatted the camera out of a photographer's hands. "Unless you work here – and I _know_ the _Planet_ would never hire desperate hacks like you, Lombard, don't think I didn't see you – you have two seconds to get out of sight before I call security and then your bosses!"

Clark didn't wait to see if Lois' threat was effective. He ducked into the newsroom and put his back to a wall, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, ignoring the other _Planet_ reporters' intense stares. For most of his walk to work he'd had no inkling that this morning should be different from any other, but he'd gotten the idea fairly quickly once the first cameras started going off. By now, he had pieced it together.

"Well that takes care of that," Lois said, sauntering over and dusting off her hands.

"Thanks, Lois," Clark said. "I owe you."

He regretted the words as soon as he saw a familiar gleam in her eye. "Damn straight. I'll accept payment in the form of an exclusive. No? Oh, come on Smallville!" she hollered after him as he bolted.

He made straight for the stairs and was on the roof in seconds, unfollowed. The heavy steel door clicking shut behind him was one of the most satisfying sounds he'd ever heard. Steadying his breathing so that he wouldn't snap his phone in half, he called Bruce.

"I take it you've heard," Bruce said in lieu of greeting. To Clark's utter bafflement (and not a little relief), he didn't sound angry at all. He didn't even sound Bat-growly. He sounded… amused.

"You're not mad?"

"I'm a little annoyed the Wayne Enterprises energy deal I just announced got pushed to page four. Wait," Clark heard the roll of a wheel over stone and knew Bruce was sitting in the big swivel chair in front of the main Batcave computers. "Don't tell me you tried to go to work today."

"Of course I did! I had no idea any of this was happening until I got swamped by reporters."

Bruce let out a bark of a laugh. "How did you not know it was happening? Stephanie says we broke Twitter."

Clark didn't have a Twitter, and Bruce knew it. "Is that a good thing?" he asked.

"…yes. Anyway, take it from someone with extensive experience handling the paparazzi. Just smile and 'no comment' your way through the day and they'll get bored."

"Easy for you to say," Clark muttered. "You can ignore them as Batman. I have to be nice to the press in _both_ my, er, roles."

"And whose fault is that, Clark? Oh, by the way, reporters are probably watching the roof, too, and plenty of them can read lips."

Clark said a bad word and went back inside

 

"Poor guy," Dick commented, though he sounded more mirthful than sincere. He was lounging on the hood of the Batmobile, one arm behind his head, the other holding up his phone as he scrolled. And scrolled. The article had barely been posted two hours and there were nearly seven hundred comments, more rolling in by the minute. He'd been reading the more amusing ones out loud.

"He'll survive. I thought you came here to report on the Bludhaven drug trade," Bruce said, not turning away from his monitors. Most of them were displaying resources for his ongoing investigation, but one had been dedicated to tracking the _Gazette_ 's piece.

Dick snorted. "For all I found I could have texted you. I came because you got caught making out with your boyfriend on the front page of the paper." Dick grinned. "And after all the times you lectured me about keeping low-profile."

"I never _lectured_."

"Not out loud, but I can tell the difference between a normal batscowl and a lecturing batscowl. You get the lecturing one any time I get within five feet of a marginally attractive civilian," Dick informed him.

"It doesn't do any good to endanger them by showing favoritism," Bruce said.

"Which is why I flirt with _all_ of them. And which is why it's hilarious that it's _you_ in this situation, because I'm sure we all thought it would be me."

"I'm glad you're amused by this," Bruce said, largely giving up on getting anything useful out of Dick for the time being.

"So are you, don't lie. It's because neither of you is actually in any danger from it. I mean, I'd hate to be the guy that goes after you through Clark because he thinks he's some helpless civilian."

"Well, we might avoid that for a while," Bruce said, eyeing the article feed. "Rising opinion seems to be that he's _you_."

There was a dull thud as Dick fell off the Batmobile.

 

Clark survived the day, and managed to lose his cloud of reporters and fans (Fans! Of Clark Kent! He wasn't sure what to make of that.) before they could follow him right to his apartment building. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone unearthed his home address, but he saw no reason to hurry that fiasco along. For now he was following Bruce's advice and being as boring as possible. He did consider slipping back to Gotham to check on him, or at least to hover and be annoyingly helpful while he worked his case just to get back at him for his amused lack of sympathy. He concluded that the last thing either he or Batman needed was to get Superman involved in this mess, though. So, he pulled the blinds, picked up a battered old paperback that would only require a fraction of his attention, and let his hearing spread out through the city, alert for trouble.

The next day he was feeling pretty good about himself. The night before, he'd put out a burning building, saving two of its occupants and their goldfish. On the way home from that he'd caught a child's baseball before it shattered a window, stopped a car theft, and escorted one extremely drunk young woman back to her apartment when it became clear the people she was with weren't going to leave the club to walk with her. He had a bit of a spring in his step heading to work the next morning and had no trouble brushing off the paparazzi. Whatever Lois had done yesterday had worked, because none of them followed him inside this time and he was actually able to get some work done – although he dreaded what would happen if he had to go out on assignment before all of this died down.

The more formal requests for interviews and television appearances had started rolling in now via phone and email, which was a little annoying, but more easily ignored than the crowd who had set up camp in a café across the street, the owners of which were only too delighted to be selling a steady stream of coffee and pastries. At least someone was benefiting from all this.

"…no, no, I understand, and that's very generous of you but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. Thanks so much. Have a good day." He hung up. That had been the eighth phone call since lunch, this one offering a substantial sum if he would speak on a morning radio show. He wondered how many publications, talk shows, and radio shows the country could possibly have. Surely they wouldn't _all_ call him… but that was certainly what it felt like. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

And noticed Lois staring at him intently from her desk right across from his.

"What?" he said.

"Why are you still answering the phone?"

"What? Because – I can't just ignore it," Clark said, as though it were obvious.

"You could hang up as soon as you realize who's calling… if you don't intend to entertain any offers at all, that is," she said, twitching a pencil up and down against the surface of her desk.

"I'm not going to hang up on someone who's just doing their job, Lois."

"You're not just holding out for the right bid?"

"What? Of course not! I'm not going to— I would never—"

"Well I don't know, do I, Kent? You're apparently _dating Batman!_ " Lois exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air. The pencil went flying. The newsroom was cleared before it hit the ground. Even the people manning the assignments desk had found reason to be elsewhere. "How long has this been going on?"

"I already told you I'm not talking about this," Clark began. Being mostly invulnerable hadn't done much to hone the finer points of his survival skills.

"I'm not asking you as a reporter," Lois growled. "I'm asking because I thought we were friends."

"Oh," said Clark, realization dawning. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"You better be."

"There are… complications. I kept it a secret to protect people." There. He didn't have to lie.

"And who's going to protect _you_? You're dating a superhero. That's bound to make you a target."

"Yes, well, the thing about superheroes is that they're pretty good at protecting people," Clark said with a sheepish smile.

"He lives in Gotham! I mean, I assume he lives in Gotham, maybe he commutes, I don't know. Hey, he and Superman are Justice League buddies, right?" Lois ducked under her desk to retrieve her pencil then popped her head back up triumphantly when she'd fished it out from behind the trash can. "Maybe he can ask Superman to keep an eye on you."

"I really don't think you need to worry that much," Clark protested.

"This ain't Kansas, Smallville," Lois said, resuming her seat.

"I know, Lois. I've lived here for years."

"Yeah, well, you can take the hick out of hicksville…"

Clark rolled his eyes at her. "Fine, fine. Get your digs in. I really am sorry, though. Are we good?"

"Oh," Lois said. "No. No, no we are not good. We will be good after you take me to lunch tomorrow and I grill you about your love life."

"Ah, I'm happy to take you to lunch but I can't—"

"Relax, I'm not talking about anything revealing. Just normal things, like how long you've been dating, when's your anniversary…" Her smile widened to show teeth. "How he is in bed."

"Lois!"

"What? You _have_ slept with him, right? I mean." She pulled up the picture that had caused this whole mess and flipped her monitor around so he could see it. "That is not the kiss of an unslept-with man. Oh, you're blushing, you _have_!"

"I'm not talking about that!"

"Does he leave the mask on? Oh my God, do you call him Batman in bed?"

"I don't have to listen to this," Clark said, hastily gathering his things and shrugging on his jacket. He could feel the blush spreading, but he also found himself smiling a little. Leave it to Lois to make something like this feel almost normal.

"Is that a yes? I bet that's a yes. Hey, have you made out in the Batmobile?" she called after him.

"Goodbye, Lois!"

He was flustered enough that he'd accidentally walked right out the front door, though, in full view of the vultures hovering across the street. All it took was one head perked up, and then all the rest followed like a colony of meerkats – or sharks scenting blood. He straightened his spine and lengthened his stride, plastering a neutral expression on his face and preparing his _no comment_ s.

They caught up with him at the first intersection he had to wait to cross, other pedestrians seeing the circus and either veering onto other routes without blinking or joining it curiously. That was Metropolis for you.

"Mr. Kent, what does Batman think about all this?"

"Have you two been in touch since the news broke?"

"Mr. Kent, what do you have to say about the rumors that you're actually Nightwing?"

Oh, that was a new one. Clark blinked in surprise and actually almost answered, but the light changed and he shook his head, leading the way across the street instead.

Halfway through the intersection, an SUV came plowing down the middle of the street, muscling other cars out of the way with a series of screeches and thuds. Clark stared, not quite believing what he was seeing and very aware of the crowd of incredibly fragile humans surrounding him, their reflexes not nearly enough to get all of them out of the way in time. He grabbed the two closest and shoved them behind him, but the car wasn't slowing down.

Clark took one step toward it, fully intending on slowing it down himself and sorting out the consequences later, when there was a glint of light off metal and the tires of the SUV suddenly blew out, one after the other. Sparks burst from the asphalt as it skidded – and then jerked to an abrupt halt nearly a foot from Clark's outstretched hands.

There was a moment of stillness as everyone in the intersection realized they were still alive and unharmed. The lights ticked over, but no car moved. Clark peered around the SUV and saw two tow lines attached to the bumper, each stretching up to a streetlight on opposite sides of the street. Perched atop the one on the left was Nightwing. He gave Clark a cheerful wave, then tightrope-walked down the line toward the pavement as though he was just out for a stroll and not performing an astonishing feat of balance on an inclined rope no thicker than an inch.

Halfway down the line he leapt off into a graceful backflip over the car he'd halted and landed at Clark's side.

"Hey, Clark. Lucky I happened by, huh?" he said, apparently oblivious to the chaos erupting around them as every photographer in the crowd went wild – not to mention the bystanders with their phones.

"Uh, yeah," Clark stuttered. "That… that could have been very bad."

Nightwing's studied nonchalance turned deadly serious for a moment. "Yeah. Let's see what we've got here." He went to the driver's side door and hauled it open. The driver was unconscious in the front seat, slumped over the steering wheel. Nightwing checked her quickly and was rewarded with a small groan as the woman started to come to. He scoffed and pulled her out of the car. "That's what you get for not wearing a seatbelt," he said.

"Er, Nightwing, is she okay?" Clark asked.

"Yeah, sorry. This one's one of mine. Drug lord. Or what passes for one in Bludhaven," he said. "I've been poking my nose in. Bet she thought she might as well take a chance on those rumors that you're me." He handcuffed the now-mostly-conscious woman and leaned her against the side of the vehicle.

"Well, those won't be a problem anymore," Clark said, eyeing the dozens of cameras pointed at them.

Nightwing grinned. "I know. Convenient, right? Hey." He took Clark by the shoulder and turned him slightly, bending his head as though he were whispering something to Clark. All he said was, "Be careful," but Clark felt him slip something into the inner pocket of Clark's jacket. "Just in case," he said with a wink. Then he turned, obviously addressing himself to the crowd as well as to Clark again as distant sirens grew rapidly closer. "Let's clear this street, everyone! See if there's anyone who needs help in the cars that got hit. Come on, are you Metropolis citizens or not? What would Superman say?" Most people jerked to attention at that and began moving down the street to peer into crunched cars to direct the paramedics when they got there. But of course, a few photographers and reporters were approaching Nightwing with clear intent. And a TV crew had shown up at some point.

"Maybe you should—" Clark began.

"I've got this," Nightwing said, his easy smile still in place. "This is a good chance for you to get away, though. I think there should be enough evidence of us standing together by now."

Clark glanced at the wrecked cars and the ambulances easing their way in. Leaving when people still needed help wasn't something he was accustomed to doing. Nightwing saw the set of his jaw change and sighed.

"No, seriously," he said in an undertone, one eye on the news crew. "You're just going to be a distraction at this point. You'll make their job harder. Please go?"

Clark sighed and gave in. When the reporters surrounded Nightwing, Clark carefully faded into the crowd, years of practice being as bland as possible standing him in good stead.

"Superman's actually on League business at the moment," he heard Nightwing lie smoothly. As far as he could tell, no one had asked. "He asked me to keep an eye out, though, circumstances being what they are." The reporters laughed appreciatively.

Clark shook his head, letting his hearing fade out as he moved further away. He knew it was Nightwing's decision to place himself front-and-center as a distraction, but he also knew it went firmly against his training to let himself be interviewed in broad daylight on live television. Clark wasn't sure he was worth it. He ducked into an empty construction site as soon as possible and shed Clark Kent, feeling nothing but relief as he claimed the sky in bright blue and red. This mess couldn't die down soon enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of those commenters on the "article" at the beginning is definitely Nightwing trolling. You can decide which :P


	3. Make Friends with His Kids

"You broke Twitter again," Batman observed when Superman called him a little while later over secure Justice League communicators.

"That wasn't my fault. Tell Nightwing thanks for me, though. How'd that all shake out after I left?" Superman was standing atop the Fortress of Solitude, enjoying being somewhere he didn't have to worry about things like lip-reading reporters. There was a light wind playing with his cape and despite the late hour, the horizon was stained with twilight. It was nice. He wished Bruce were actually here instead of just on the coms with him, though.

"Too soon to say," Batman reported. "The dealer didn't have the information we needed, but she did have a list of contacts, one of which seems to be a legitimate pharmaceutical supply company."

"I meant, were there any casualties?" Superman asked. "Injuries?"

There was a slightly longer than usual pause. "Oh. A few minor bumps and bruises. Nothing long-term. The amount of property damage was considerably more significant. However, Wayne Media has managed to purchase interview rights from all of the drivers directly impacted. I hear the compensation they offered for those rights was more than fair."

Superman grinned. "Thank you."

"It makes good press. Or YouTube videos or whatever I'm publishing these days," Batman said, as though he could possibly fool anyone. "Hang on."

Superman's super-hearing picked up a sudden buzz of fluorescent lights and the sound of a door opening. "Hello?" an unfamiliar male voice said hesitantly. "That's strange, I thought I locked this door already."

Superman blinked. "Are you _breaking and entering_ while on the phone with me?" he hissed. Batman didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"So lock it now and let's get moving. I hate being the last one here at night," said a woman's voice.

"Relax, no one's gonna hit us. We don't even have any of that trag crap on-site. Some corporation cleaned us out," the guy said. Superman heard the lights switch off.

"It's not like the thugs on the street know that," the woman protested. Their voices faded as they moved out of the room.

"Just entering," Batman said when they were out of earshot. "I haven't broken anything."

Superman sighed. "The legitimate pharmaceutical supply company?"

"I _hope_ it's legitimate." The gentle squeak and thud of filing cabinets opening and closing made it to Superman's ears. "If it is, they'll have records of who bought their trag supply. Huh. What is…"

Superman kind of hoped he would finish that thought, or maybe explain what trag was, but apparently Batman had found something interesting enough to make him lose track of the conversation.

"Batman?" he prompted. "Everything all right?"

"Found a shipping inventory. Before the trag was sold, the company was instructed to 'test with enclosed samples.' Samples of what?" Superman heard a keyboard clicking. He wondered how much time Batman had spent training himself to type effectively while wearing gauntlets. "Hm. Photos look like sugar – white, crystalline – but the chemical makeup—" Batman stopped abruptly.

"What is it?"

"Inconclusive. I'll have to study this further."

"Couldn't you just ask?"

"I could. If I wanted whoever manufactured this drug war to have warning."

"So, trag's a drug? And what do you mean manufactured?"

"Trag – short for tragacanth, as in tragacanth gum, commonly used to create pharmaceutical suspensions. Someone out there has bought up the commercial supply and has put it out among Gotham's underworld that they're willing to pay for more. It's not a drug, technically," Batman explained. "It's just that the drug runners already had the infrastructure in place to acquire it. But with no clear territory lines in place for this product, and the amount of money being offered… war broke out."

"And now you're trying to figure out who'd start a war over a commonly available medical supply."

"I have a suspect list. There are a lot of mad pharmacists running around Gotham, but none of them are backed by corporations, and it would be outside their normal behavior to fake one."

"The normal behavior for a mad pharmacist?"

"Mm."

"Right. Do you need help?"

"Hn. Focus on your own crisis. If today's events are any indication, it may be longer than I thought before the public loses interest in you." Superman groaned and was rewarded with a spare chuckle from Batman. "Don't you have a hoard of vacation days to spend? You can hide out at the manor as long as you like."

"How very altruistic of you."

"Hardly," Batman growled, and Superman's shiver had nothing to do with the Arctic cold.

"Tempting. But if Clark Kent vanishes now, it'll just fuel the flames. I'll wait it out. I'm not letting this drive me out of my own city."

"Good," said Batman, approval evident in his voice. Superman heard a familiar snap of fabric, the whir of gears and whoosh of a grapple. Batman was on the move.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Maybe. And— hm."

"What?"

Batman didn't answer, but there was a sudden rush of wind and the distinctive thud of boots hitting flesh.

"Batman?" Superman asked, though he was fairly certain they had been Batman's boots and some villain's flesh.

"It's fine, just some idiots robbing a gas station."

"Is he talking to us?" Superman heard someone say right before they gave a grunt of pain and he heard their body crashing into something metallic that triggered a series of similar crashes. Shelving, probably.

"Oh for— stop chatting and crimefighting at the same time, Batman!" Superman admonished. "That's like… texting and driving!"

"I can multitask."

"Why risk it? I'm going. Be safe."

Batman grunted in farewell – or maybe with the effort of hitting a robber with exactly the right amount of force to incapacitate but not kill. Either way, Superman terminated the comlink with a shake of his head, then rose into the air to head back home.

 

It was nearing two o'clock in the morning when Clark returned to his apartment, cape and costume safely out of sight. He'd done a quick round through the city and was content to listen for danger in the background for the rest of the night. His gaze moved from the kitchen with its sink full of dirty dishes to his bedroom with its inviting bed. He didn't _need_ to sleep, not yet, but it sounded far more pleasant than washing dishes right now. Then again, with superspeed, the only reason not to do the dishes before going to bed was laziness. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

And paused when he heard a noise at the window. He turned, frowning, thinking some paparazzo had finally gone too far, and was considerably surprised to see Red Hood, full helmet and all, twitching his curtains closed with one hand while a pistol dangled from the other.

"You know, for a guy who's dating Batman, you have really lousy security," Red Hood said. Then he launched himself across the room at Clark. He was fast, for a human, and Clark watched him curiously. When it became clear that Hood's intent was to shove him against the wall with an arm across his throat, Clark let him; it was that or let Jason break an arm running into an immovable object.

"So, what's the story here?" Red Hood asked, casually making sure Clark could see the gun still ready in his other hand. Clark's eyebrows came together, puzzled.

"Pardon?" Surely Red Hood knew that shooting Clark would only put himself in danger. Unless… unless maybe he didn't. Oh, no.

"What have you got on him? What do you want from him? Oh, don't give me that look," Red Hood snarled, bringing the gun up to Clark's temple. Clark froze. The bullet would ricochet and almost certainly wound Red Hood if he fired. "The media's going nuts. 'Normal guy kisses Batman.' Right. I know Batman, buddy, and he doesn't do _normal_. And if he was really interested in you, no way he'd leave you this unprotected. No way he'd let this media circus happen, expose you like that. That tells me that either you've got something on him and he's letting all this happen so someone else will take you out of the equation, or all this attention is something you want and are using him for. So?" He punctuated this last question by jabbing the gun against Clark's temple.

"Nightwing vouching for me doesn't help?" Clark asked, keeping his voice steady and listening for the minute creak of tendons that would tell him he had to move, to catch a bullet.

"Nightwing showing up in the middle of Metropolis to save your ass and giving a TV interview about it makes you _even more_ suspicious."

Clark took a deep breath, used his x-ray vision to find Jason's eyes behind the mask, and made eye contact. "Look, Jason, it's nice to hear you're concerned about him, but there's a perfectly good reason for all of that."

" _What_ did you just call me?"

"It's okay, yes, I know who you are, but that's because I'm—"

"Did he tell you? Or did you figure it out? Is that what you've got on him? _Answer_!" Red Hood moved the gun from Clark's temple to point at his thigh, finger already squeezing the trigger. Clark was faster – easily – and plucked the gun out of his hand, crushing it between two hands before Red Hood even realized what had happened, his trigger finger closing on empty air. Clark took his wrist gently and dropped the former gun into his hand.

"What the _fuck_."

Since the curtains were drawn, Clark hovered a few inches in the air just to drive his point home and gave a casual shrug. "I'm Superman."

Red Hood looked down at the metal in his hand, then back up at Clark, then down again at his hand. Then he dropped the crumpled gun, turned on his heel, and climbed back out the window.

Clark stared after him for a moment, nonplussed, then poked his head out after him. Red Hood was climbing the fire escape, leaving a drift of quiet obscenities in his wake. Clark thought for a moment, then climbed up after him, following him to the roof where Jason dropped onto the ledge, feet dangling over open air. He pulled off his helmet and Clark sat down next to him.

"Sorry," Clark said. "I thought you knew."

"Does Dick know?"

"Um, I should tell you there might be people watching or listening—"

"There aren't any witnesses. What do you think I am, some kind of amateur?" Jason kicked a booted foot against the old brick of the building. "Does he?"

"About who I am? Yeah. They all do, I'm pretty sure. I'm sorry Bruce didn't tell you."

Jason's mouth twisted into something neither a smile nor a frown. "That's the bitch of it," he said. "He might have."

Clark looked at him curiously.

"You know about my untimely demise, and all that?" Jason asked.

"Yes." Clark pretended he could only hear Jason's casual tone, and not the way his heart sped slightly as he thought about "and all that."

"The Pit can fuck with your head. I have no idea how pissed I should be about not knowing this."

"Ah. Um. Do you want me to ask him? If he ever told you?"

Jason stared at Clark, incredulous. "No, I don't want you to— You would actually do that. You really are the guy the media makes you out to be. God damn, I cannot believe I didn't work this one out." He leaned back slightly, tipping his head up to the sky. "Of _course_ he doesn't worry about protecting you. Of course Dick made himself into a big showy distraction. Because you're _fucking Superman_."

"Technically Bruce is the one fucking Supe—"

"Ah! Ah!" Jason clapped his hands over his ears. "I did not hear that! Oh God! Why would you _say_ that?!"

"To get you back for scaring me in there," Clark said with a bright, innocent smile.

"Scaring you?" Jason asked, bringing his hands down. "What, you thought I might damage the paint or something?"

Clark gave him a pointed look. "If you had shot me at that range, the bullet would have ricocheted and probably injured you severely. Bruce would have been _really_ mad at me if I let that happen."

Jason snorted and fished around in a pocket until he came up with a cigarette. "Sure."

"He _would_. He does care, Jason," Clark insisted

"Yeah, yeah. Cares, but doesn't trust. Hey, got a light?"

"No. You shouldn't smoke. Especially not just to change a topic you don't like."

"Ha. Maybe I'll quit in my next life."

Clark glared at him until he rolled his eyes and flicked the cigarette away. "Thank you. He was really worried about you after this whole thing with the… the trag? You and Poison Ivy abducted a botanist?"

"We _rescued_ a botanist, thank you very much. Lady wanders into the International BioPharm Expo toting an experimental variety of tragacanth, no idea of the shit going down in Gotham. She had no clue how many targets were on her back – neither did Bruce, for that matter."

"You blew up the convention center."

"I only left the traps, it's not my fault those rent-a-thugs triggered every single one of them. No one died!"

Clark sighed. He was starting to understand the lines around Bruce's mouth a little better. "How'd you get Ivy to cooperate?"

Jason shrugged. "She's pissed as hell about this trag thing. Whatever they're doing with it could apparently introduce some kind of plague into the plant world? No idea, man. I was just in it for the convenient gang war. Whatever else is going on, Bruce is working on it. I won't get in his way."

"And is staying out of his way what brought you here tonight?" Clark asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, I just thought if you had something on Batman it might be useful down the road," Jason said, far too casually.

"Really? Because it sounded kind of protective. You might as well have shouted _what are your intentions toward Batman?_ " Clark said, mimicking Jason's Red Hood voice.

"Ah, shut up," Jason said, giving Clark's shoulder a little sideways shove and then startling slightly when it had absolutely no give. "Holy shit," he said, just realizing. "Batman and Superman are dating." He took a minute to come to terms with that concept. "I can't believe Superman said _fucking_."

"Watch your mouth, young man," Clark said with a perfectly straight face.

Jason laughed, which made Clark smile too. "All right," Jason said. "How long? Because it's possible he didn't tell me your identity before I died, but if he was hiding a whole relationship then I'll definitely be pissed."

"No, no," Clark said. "A little over two years. It was after you came back."

"And all the other batkids knew?"

"Yes," Clark said apologetically. "I'm sure he would have told you but at the time you were still… er." _Strung together by rage and bullets_ seemed like an untactful thing to say. "New."

"And I'm sure he just forgot to mention it after that," Jason said, though there was no real ire behind it. "Ah, me and Bats have issues. But that's not your problem." He picked up his helmet and stood, balancing on the ledge. "Thanks for the chat. If that old bastard breaks your heart, let me know. I'll kick him in the face for you, no charge."

By the time Clark figured out whether he should laugh or protest, Jason was gone.

 


	4. Always Have a Plan

A few days later, public interest in Clark Kent had not died down and Clark's apartment was the focus of numerous camera lenses and studied scrutiny. The other residents of Clark's building weren't particularly amused by this and the local police department had taken to rousting loitering reporters hourly – which Batman was finding extremely convenient at this precise moment. He was crouched in the shadows on a rooftop across from Clark's apartment and had just watched the three AM patrol shoo away the last of the night-owls.

Not that Batman couldn't have snuck into that apartment completely unseen if he'd had to. But apprehending the guy currently trying to break into Clark's window would have been a little difficult to pull off without alerting people watching for something exactly like that.

The man was efficient and actually had the window a few inches open before he was overtaken by a very distinctive shadow. Before he could even cry out he was gagged, trussed, and dangling over the edge of the fire escape. Batman considered his squirming, the length of the line the guy was suspended by, the gap of open air between him and a dumpster below, and the contents of said dumpster before cutting the line and listening to a very satisfying _whumpf_.

"What's— oh, Batman," Clark said, opening the window. If he was surprised to find it already partially opened, it didn't show. Batman pushed him gently back and slid inside, closing the window behind him.

"There was an intruder," he said. "I dropped him in the dumpster."

"Oh. We should probably call someone to pick him up."

"That's not the point," Batman said. "Clark. What was your plan for dealing with something like this if I _hadn't_ been coming to visit you?"

"Er, I guess the same plan for whenever I'm in a dangerous situation and can't risk compromising my identity?"

Batman sighed heavily. "You mean fumble through and hope for the best. You were right, this is a disaster. Your security is… you don't even _have_ security."

"I'm Superman, I don't _need—_ mmph."

Batman had pressed a gloved hand over Clark's mouth. "What did I say about lip reading."

Clark rolled his eyes and brushed Batman's hand away. "Well if anyone was watching me closely enough for that, I can't wait to see what they make of _this_." His kiss pushed Batman back against the window – which was just fine by Batman, because he needed to close the curtains anyway, a feat he accomplished by reaching behind himself without having to move his mouth from Clark's. He also dropped a device on the sill that would block any long-range listening equipment. When Clark pulled him back toward the couch Batman dropped a jammer on the end table, activating it before the backs of Clark's knees hit the cushions and he dropped into a sitting position, dragging Batman with him.

Batman's knees dug into the cushions on either side of Clark's thighs as Clark grinned up at him. "Someday I'm going to distract you enough that you forget to do all that."

"I look forward to it," Batman said, staring down at Clark. A curl of hair had fallen forward, making it look like Superman was wearing glasses for some reason. Batman brushed it back.

"All right," Clark said. "What's wrong?"

Batman stilled. "Wrong?"

"Yeah. I can count the times you've come to visit me on one hand – and never as Batman."

"The manor—"

"Is more secure, I know. And it's definitely easier for me to get there. I don't have a problem with it, just wondering. Why now, when there's twice as much risk of being seen?"

"I just…" Batman paused. Lying was a simple thing. Lying to Clark was not, and not just because Clark could hear his heartbeat. But he wasn't really ready to share his findings on the trag case with Clark, and how could he say _I needed to make sure you were okay_ without explaining why?

"Is this about Jason?"

Batman blinked. _Well, why not. Thanks, Jason._ "I don't know what you mean," he said, swinging off of Clark to sit more comfortably on the couch. The words weren't a lie, but one could do wonders with inflection. Clark shifted so his back was against the armrest and pulled his feet up onto the couch so he could face Batman. It made him look surprisingly young and Bruce was struck with the urge to just lean against his legs and fall asleep. He glanced at the window again to make sure the curtains were firmly closed and dragged off his cowl.

"Come on, Bruce. Is he mad at you? He seemed undecided."

"I think Jason's pretty much always mad at me." A pause. "You've seen him recently?"

"Yeah. Weirdest shovel talk I've ever had. Especially since he ended it by threatening _you_ instead of me."

Bruce's laugh was more like a sharp exhalation. "Typical."

Clark smiled briefly – he always did when he'd made Bruce laugh, he couldn't help it – but he turned serious again quickly. "You two should talk more. Some time when there aren't also explosions and gang wars happening in the background."

"You seem worried. What did he say to you?"

"I don't think he wanted me sticking my nose in," Clark demurred. "But, wait. You really didn't know he came here. He hasn't said anything to you," Clark said, narrowing his eyes. Bruce frowned. "So that's not why you're here. Is it about this trag thing?"

Curse that reporter's intuition because yes, yes it was about the trag thing. More specifically it was about which corporation had started the trag thing, and about a strange white crystalline mineral that shouldn't exist and that had Poison Ivy working with Red Hood. "I have some leads. I don't want to say anything more until I have something actionable. But disrupting the Gotham supply should have put a hold on things until I figure out exactly what they were planning to use that much tragacanth gum for. I can use Wayne Pharmaceuticals to subtly make sure imports in other locations are diverted."

"Okay," Clark said. "But isn't it possible that whoever was buying it up was doing it innocently? What if it was a legitimate medical breakthrough that accidentally caused all this?"

Batman almost laughed. "Let's just say that's… unlikely. But I didn't come to discuss the case. Is it so hard to believe I just missed you?"

Clark gave him a skeptical look, which he supposed he deserved. He met it with a steady look of his own and just the barest hint of a cocky, Bruce Wayne smile. "All right, I was checking on you," he admitted. "You're not used to all this public attention. It's been kind of like watching a kitten swim – cute, but worrying."

"You spend a lot of time watching videos of kittens swimming?"

"And since you're obviously fine," Bruce went on, rolling his eyes. "I guess I can go." He made to stand, but then Clark was on top of him, pinning him to the sofa.

"So soon?" he asked, running a hand down Bruce's side, skipping lightly over the utility belt, skimming lower.

"You know this is basically armor, right?" Bruce asked, eyes dancing. "I can't feel that at all."

"So do something about it," Clark suggested.

It wasn't a bad idea.

 

Some time later, gadgets collected and suit secure, Batman re-emerged unseen from Clark's apartment. Clark had asked him to stay the night, of course, but Bruce Wayne had places to be in Gotham tomorrow morning. And, though he didn't say this part out loud, Batman still had places to be in Metropolis.

He turned the Batplane toward LexCorp headquarters.

 

*

 

One week later, the media fervor surrounding Clark Kent had dulled considerably. Some celebrity or another had said or done something scandalous and the circus moved on to more fertile ground. That wasn't to say that there weren't still people watching Clark Kent, just in case, but they generally restrained themselves to casually eyeing the _Planet_ or glancing up at Clark's apartment every so often while being more focused on their coffee cups. As the weather continued to get colder, the situation could only improve.

The thought made Clark cheerful as he left for work that morning, only just remembering that most humans would consider the current cloudy day to be slightly chilly. He grabbed his jacket for the look of the thing and headed for the newsstand where Lois had told him to meet her.

He could practically feel the few remaining watchers' interest perk up as he deviated from his normal schedule and hoped they wouldn't be a problem. He and Lois had been working a story about illegal cost-cutting measures covered up in public elementary schools and up until now Lois had been doing all the footwork, claiming – rightly – that his unwanted celebrity status would put the whole story in jeopardy. They were on good terms after he'd let her ask every single embarrassing question that popped into her mind over lunch one day (he'd answered very few of them); now that she'd finally admitted that it might not be a bad thing to have backup while she looked into this shady warehouse that was supposedly a contractor's headquarters, he would be _very_ annoyed if the paparazzi messed it up.

He needn't have worried. Lois took one look at him as he approached, another look behind him, thrust her coffee into his hands with a muttered "Hold this," and stomped off into an alley he'd just passed. There was a startled exclamation and then a woman in a hat carrying a camera stumbled out of the alley with Lois on her tail. "We are _working_!" she barked at her. "So if you – and any of your buddies!" (This last with voice raised for anyone who might be within earshot) "Ever want to do your own work in this town again, you'll stay out of our way. Now _get!_ "

The photographer got. A few other people on the street casually wandered away as well.

Clark handed Lois her coffee back, thinking how much simpler his life would be if he could pull off doing something like that. Yelling just didn't come easily to him, but he had to admit it was effective in this case. No one followed them and they were able to check out the warehouse (empty, had been rented out to a since-dissolved entity), follow that lead to a contractor who apparently only hired off-the-books workers, and track down those workers one by one until someone agreed to an interview.

By then, the day was most of the way gone. The sun was making long, cold shadows of the buildings and they were halfway across town from either of their homes. Lois offered to walk him back to his place to keep the vultures at bay, and he offered to walk her to hers for safety. In the end, they walked each other to the subway and took different trains since they lived in opposite directions, Lois assuring Clark that she had mace and martial arts training and a lot of rage, so she would be fine. (He kept an ear on her anyway. She was.)

His own stop was just a few blocks from his apartment and he walked it casually, hands in his coat pockets, watching the sky darken. It was nice to have his city to himself again, even if it might not last long. People were probably still waiting for him closer to his building.

Sure enough, no sooner had he thought that than he noticed the same pattern of footsteps had been the same careful distance behind him ever since he'd come up from the subway stop. _Great_. He waited for a crowd of people going the other direction and then ducked onto a narrow side street. The footsteps weren't fooled and sped up to follow him. He sighed and made a sharp turn into an even narrower alley. When the person behind him sped up again to follow, he abruptly lost his patience and turned to confront them.

The person following him was a woman wearing a baseball cap with a blonde ponytail sticking out the back and large reflective sunglasses, even though it was getting darker by the moment at street level. She was tall, and built like Diana, and she had her hands in the pockets of her heavy canvas coat. Clark raised his eyebrows at her.

"Are you following me?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. The woman smiled at him, but it wasn't a flirtatious or guilty smile. It was predatory.

"No. I'm abducting you." She pulled one of her hands out of its pocket to show him the knife she was holding.

"I see," he said. Behind him, he heard a vehicle pull up and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, a completely clichéd, unmarked panel van was now blocking the other end of the alley. Two men wearing ski masks jumped out of it. They were also holding knives.

"All right, bright eyes, get in the van," one of them said, hauling the sliding door open.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Clark wondered.

The woman laughed. "You're a big guy, but there are more of us than there are of you." She moved toward him. Behind him, one of the men was also closing in. "Or you could just tell us right now who Batman is and save us the trouble."

" _Oh_. You're kidnapping me for information about Batman." He almost said _oh good_ , because that meant this wasn't about the story he and Lois were working on, which meant no one was going after her right now.

"Little slow on the uptake. Guess he doesn't like you for your brains," said the guy behind him.

"Let's get a move on, here!" called the guy manning the van. "Don't forget whose city this is." He glanced at the sky nervously.

"He's right. Move!" The woman jabbed the knife at him and Clark grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward and squeezing with just enough strength that she dropped it. He spun and thrust the woman at the man behind him. The man attempted to dodge her and ended up sort of awkwardly leaping over her, catching his foot, and stumbling into Clark, knife out. Clark felt it tear through his coat and his shirt and rebound off his side to clatter to the pavement.

"Uh?" said the guy who'd just accidentally stabbed him.

"Er," said Clark. "Ow?" He could hear Batman's voice in his mind, crystal clear: _What was your plan for dealing with something like this?_ He pressed his hands over his side to hide the lack of wound… and was shocked to touch something wet and sticky. He looked down at his hands. They were red. _What_? He fumbled at his clothes, at the gash where the knife had gone right through the jacket – and the jacket's inner pocket. It was the same coat he'd been wearing when Nightwing had "saved" him a little over a week ago. He'd completely forgotten Nightwing had slipped something into his pocket.

_Just in case,_ he'd said. Blood capsules. For faking an injury.

"Jesus, Dave, you stabbed him!"

"Did I?" Dave wondered, looking from Clark to the knife on the pavement.

"Oh, yes," Clark said. "I mean… ow! You stabbed me!" Right, that was enough of that. He turned to run, but the woman grabbed him by the back of the shirt. He stopped so he didn't yank her off her feet and was about to shrug her off when he heard the distinct click of a safety being released. He turned.

The man in the van was pointing an assault rifle at him. _Great_. It'd be very difficult to fake his way out of a bullet bouncing off his head, blood capsules or no.

The woman jerked him forward, shoving him toward the van.

"Shit, we need to check the wound," Dave said, still on the ground. "We can't have him die! We won't get paid!"

"Ow, my arm!" Clark said helpfully, making sure to rub his sleeve in the fake blood so that it wasn't completely clear where the "wound" was.

"It's just his arm, he'll be fine," said the woman. Dave looked confused, but he snatched his knife from the ground and followed them into the van anyway. Clark made appropriately pained noises when they put a pair of handcuffs on him and luckily they didn't look too closely at his blood-soaked sleeve. Unfortunately, the handcuffs were just as effective on him as they would have been on a human, since Clark didn't want to give away his strength. He spent the entire ride being very careful not to break the fragile things.

And it was kind of a long ride. His kidnappers appeared to be taking him to Gotham.

"Seriously?" Clark wondered when he realized where they were going. "Isn't it a little risky to be taking me to Batman's city? Do you _want_ to get caught?"

That was how Clark ended up gagged, as well.

And now, here he was, tied to a sturdy wooden chair in what was clearly a gang headquarters at the Gotham docks. There were a lot of members, it would seem, all of them wearing either ski masks or mirrored sunglasses. At first, Clark thought they just needed to work on their branding, but it soon became clear that this gang was the remnant of two other gangs that had been decimated in the recent territory wars. The two leaders were arguing over a metal baseball bat that Clark was eyeing very nervously. One of the leaders wanted to beat information out of him. The other wanted to use him as Batman bait for a trap he'd devised. Any minute now, they'd realize they could do both and that wouldn't end well. For the baseball bat, anyway.

Clark sighed around the gag (careful not to freeze it) and started looking around for a sprinkler system he could trigger with his heat vision.

He didn't need it, though. At that moment, the warehouse and the docks outside went dark, the cloudy night leaving not even moonlight to see by. There were shouts of consternation, shattering glass, the distinctive sounds of bodies falling to the floor. Clark took the opportunity to stand up, snapping the chair in half and letting the ropes slide off before plucking the gag from his head and tossing it away.

The lights flickered back on as somewhere a back-up generator kicked in, and the last few standing gang members had an excellent view of Robin sending them into unconsciousness. He kicked off of one person's face to drive his heel into someone else's temple, then swept a sheathed sword into the final man's torso. When he doubled over Robin drove the hilt into the back of his head and he collapsed, motionless.

Clark scanned each of the downed bodies quickly.

"They're fine," Robin said impatiently. "Now get out of my city."

Clark didn't flinch, being well used to Damian by this point. "Sure. Want a lift?"

"Tch."

"Have it your way. Where's Batman tonight?"

"Busy sending a message that kidnapping you doesn't automatically mean he'll show up. We can't have you suddenly becoming Gotham's favorite hostage," Robin said. "That's Grayson's job." He fired a line to the ceiling of the warehouse, where he'd left a window open for himself, and shot off into the air. Clark followed him through the window and Robin gave him an annoyed look. "Stop hovering, someone will see you," he ordered, clambering onto the roof. "If you're going to continue seeing Father, you really ought to take steps to avoid these situations."

"Yeah, all right, that's fair," Clark said. He looked down at Robin, as though sizing him up. "What would you suggest?"

Robin's answering grin was slightly terrifying.

 


	5. Don't Let Him Forget: He's Dating You, Too

Bruce and Clark were installed on Clark's worn couch watching a movie. Well, Bruce was more listening to the movie. He was lying on his back, taking up most of the couch and using Clark's lap as a pillow so he could stare at the ceiling and free-associate. Clark didn't mind. The only time Bruce was still enough to let Clark idly run fingers through his hair was when he needed to let his brain work on a problem without him, and _Mean Girls_ was entertaining enough, even if Clark had seen it a few times already. Bruce never had. He'd shown up at Clark's door that night disguised as one of Clark's neighbors, bearing pizza and the movie with the excuse that Dick had said it was a crime he'd never watched it. (This was true, but it was the fact that Jason had _agreed_ with Dick's assessment that had made Bruce acquire a copy for movie night.)

There was a sudden _zap_ from outside, followed by a muffled _thud._ Bruce's eyes snapped into focus and Clark felt him tense, but he took his cue from Clark's complete lack of alarm and didn't move. "Should we be worried about Mothra apparently getting stuck in your bug zapper?" Bruce asked.

"Nah," Clark said. "I let Damian work on my security a little." Now Bruce _did_ sit up, eyeing the curtained window with mild concern. Clark gently nudged him back down. "It's fine. I checked everything myself. He also taught me some self-defense things that it would be plausible for Clark Kent to know so I might actually get myself out of a situation without superpowers if I get jumped again."

"If you wanted to learn that, I could have taught you," Bruce said.

"I know," Clark replied. "But now I'm the cool dad because I let him show me how to do something."

"Ah," said Bruce. He finally relaxed again as Clark's fingers combed his hair back. "Well played." There was another _zap-thud_. Bruce pursed his lips. "How would you feel about breaking up?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'll mention it tomorrow in the press room. Will Batman be available for comment?"

"Hell no. Good luck, lover."

"See, this is why I'm breaking up with you," Clark said with a grin that Bruce couldn't help but raise his head to taste.

"I always knew you were too good for me," he murmured against Clark's mouth.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," Clark replied, his voice lowering.

Bruce assumed that Clark was talking about the progression of their current activities.

Bruce was wrong.

But he wouldn't find that out until later.

 

_Later…_

 

The public fervor over Clark Kent had at last vanished entirely, aided by a conveniently timed celebrity birth announcement coinciding with his and Batman's purported break-up. Bruce was still amused by the whole thing, though it _was_ annoying that it had kept Clark from the manor for over a month. Well, it might be for the best. He still hadn't told Clark about the LexCorp angle on the tragacanth case because he still wasn't sure what Luthor's actual plan was. Try as he might, Batman couldn't track down any physical samples of that white mineral to confirm what he suspected. Poison Ivy had been a step ahead of him; while he'd been containing a gang war, she'd been going around destroying any of that white mineral she could get her hands on before Batman had even been aware it existed. But even she had no idea what it was, only that it was deadly to plant life… except tragacanth gum solutions.

At any rate, whatever Luthor's plan was, it seemed to have stalled as thoroughly as Batman's investigation. But he had a feeling Bruce Wayne might be able to grease some wheels that Batman couldn't, particularly if Lex got around to noticing that it was Wayne Enterprises interfering with his tragacanth supply now.

To prepare for that eventuality, Bruce needed to tend to his reputation. He'd been "on vacation in the Virgin Islands" for the last month so that Batman could focus on the territory wars, but he supposed his vacation was now officially over. Alfred, ever prepared, produced a suitable invite for that very evening.

 

The grand opening of the exclusive Diamond Terrace club, located on the fourteenth floor of one of Gotham's newest and most glittering high-rises, was this month's ultimate see-and-be-seen event. It was attended by only the most well-connected, trendy, and wealthy of the upper class. Guilty on three counts, Bruce was suffering. The Diamond Terrace was more country club than nightclub, despite being as far from the country as it was possible to get. Inside, it was all mirrors and white tablecloths and alcohol older than the combined age of all of the underwear models in attendance. The stuffy interior was relieved, however, by the complete lack of a fourth wall. Instead, the club opened onto an expansive open-air observation deck – the terrace from which it took its name. The floor of the deck was studded with thousands of tiny, glimmering lights and more intimate tables were scattered amidst enormous planters overflowing with night-blooming flowers.

As generally happened at these functions, Bruce's social gravity had captured a handful of stunningly gorgeous and appallingly ambitious men and women in his orbit. He'd managed to slowly shift them all the way to the edge of the terrace, where at least he could see the city. He laughed at some unoriginal remark about the economy and wondered what it said about him that he was more comfortable with nothing but open air at his back than he was amidst the crowd of people in the club.

He did not check his watch. He knew exactly what time it was, and exactly how long the society columns expected him to stay before slinking off, conveniently unseen so that they could hypothetically pair him with any number of eligible young heiresses. He was acutely aware that the crowd was acutely aware of him, dozens of pairs of eyes returning to him over and over to see what Bruce Wayne was doing, who he was talking with, what he was wearing, and every single one of those glances doubled by the gaze of a camera twittering, gramming, and snapping his image out into the ether. His face was starting to hurt from smiling so much and if one more casual acquaintance dragged him in for a selfie…

But then the attention of the crowd shifted abruptly, away from him – behind him. Bruce whirled to face the edge of the balcony, alert for danger, and was stunned to see—

"Superman!" Bruce said expansively, spreading his arms wide in welcome as though he owned the Terrace. "Come for a photo op?" If he had thought the phones were active before, it was nothing to what they were doing now.

"You bet I did," Superman said with one of his shining, all-American smiles. Then he darted forward in mid-air, grabbed Bruce by the lapels, and kissed him full on the mouth. Someone in the crowd squealed.

"Oh, you _bastard_ ," Bruce murmured against Superman's lips, though he couldn't help grinning at how _pleased_ Clark looked by his little trick.

"Turnabout is fair play," Superman said, smug as a cat. "Good luck, lover." And then he winked, actually _winked_ at him, and zipped away. Bruce was left gripping the railing with a half-circle of wide-eyed, phone-wielding socialites behind him.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, licking his lips deliberately. "It seems I'm late for a prior engagement."

He'd show Clark a thing or two about dealing with the press.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Part 2: Turnabout is Fair Play
> 
> ...which, since you guys have been FREAKING AMAZING in the comments, I think I shall start posting Sunday instead of next weekend as I had planned :) See you then!  
> (Update - it's posted! Obviously! Enjoy!)


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